


Hostage

by PinkRangerV



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dark, Fire, Serial Killer Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:35:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkRangerV/pseuds/PinkRangerV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fire cleanses and purifies. Things that go bump in the night don't like fire, especially not in the hand of Winchesters. And fire can keep a little brother very close indeed...whether he wants to be or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hostage

**Author's Note:**

> This is all based off Tumblr user phantomrose96's wonderful headcanon that Sam's Stanford friends think Dean is a serial killer holding Sam hostage. Trigger warnings for pyrophobia, depiction of PTSD response to severe abuse, severe abuse implied offscreen, cult behavior\mentality, and a _lot_ of death.

Sometimes Sam hears Jess’ screams as she burns.

Sometimes smell comes with it, or the feeling of heat, but sometimes it’s just the screams. If he lets himself drift off a little too much, falls asleep too deeply…

It’s his own fault, Dean says unsympathetically. There’s monsters lurking in the dark. If Sam had just _listened_ , had just accepted his destiny, Jess would be alive now. Dean did what he had to do. Jess was possessed by a demon, and Dean had saved him, because demons were always after Sam, the freak of nature Sam was.

Sam keeps quiet about the memories. But he still can’t eat meat.

Not anymore.

 

***

 

Jody Mills liked to think she’d been elected because she was the best sheriff for the job, but there was always some nagging thing that made her wonder whether it was qualifications or her obsessive need to hang signage everywhere she went that actually kept her paycheck coming.

Today it was Bobby’s new friends. They were _not_ FBI, that was obvious. Bobby Singer wasn’t really a subtle man...but who the hell _were_ they? Why weren’t they in the system?

Jody’s phone buzzed. Cody was texting her again. She really should call it a night…

It wasn’t much of a distraction but somehow she found herself on the wrong page, but with two pictures of entirely the right faces, and names to go with them: Sam and Dean Winchester.

The serial killers.

Jody blinked, then dialed home. “Hey, honey? Can you put Cody to bed tonight? Yeah, I’m sorry, I just...something came up, I need to check it out. Love you too. Tell Cody sweet dreams for me. Okay. Night.”

It couldn’t be, they were presumed dead.

But Jody couldn’t take the chance.

 

***

 

Sometimes Sam remembers Ruby.

Soft, gentle, so patient and kind behind her snark. Her lips and hands, gently soothing away tension, passionate and demanding when she was eager. The way she always cooked anything hot, never lit candles or played with fire.

Sam studied the burn on his hand.

Fire cleansed, but it was a terrifying, painful cleansing.

There were some large band-aids. Sam put one on his palm. Dean had...been angry. Only a person could handle fire safely; John and Dean used it to punish Sam because part-demon freaks like him remembered fire more than anything. The lesson didn’t stick otherwise.

Sometimes Sam remembers that Ruby was another kind of out. Not like Stanford; Ruby was a serial killer and there was no two ways around it. But she was also compassionate. She killed those who wanted death, helped people who needed suicide along their way. When Dean had demanded Sam choose, Ruby had ensured Sam didn’t have to.

Sam was doing the right thing now. Saving people, hunting things, the family business. It was important. He knew what lurked in the dark, he should never have turned his back on it.

But sometimes he thought of Ruby, and he missed being safe.

 

***

 

“Chrissy. Start from the beginning.” Jody soothed.

Apparently Sam had made friends at Stanford, enough so that Jody could talk to them over the phone and get a statement. Or three. Lawyers, even kiddie lawyers, were very thorough when they wanted to be.

_“Okay, so you know how Jess--Jessica Moore--got murdered? Well, I talked to her the day before. She and Sam, they were really close. We had bets running on when they’d get married. And I know I invited Sam to come get drinks with us, I needed help with some Latin roots.”_

“Latin?” Jody jotted down the word.

 _“Oh, yeah. Sam can translate_ anything _, it’s scary, but he’s_ great _at Latin.”_

“Hunh. I thought it was a dead language.”

Chrissy snorted. _“Never underestimate the power of bored college students. Anyway, I asked Jess where Sam was. She said his brother broke into our apartment at 3 in the morning and took him. Said he didn’t seem to want to go. And even she didn’t know he had a brother. She tried to hide it, but she was checking her phone all the time, scared out of her mind, and Brady and B and I started helping her out. Just looking up stuff. Guess what we found out.”_

“I’m all ears.” Jody was scribbling notes frantically, and most of them were just things she didn’t want recorded. She had a professional image, after all.

 _“The counselors kept saying Sam was ‘troubled’, but it was more like he was_ terrified _. I think B gave you guys a statement, someone called Henriksen…”_

Jody nodded. _It started even before Jess’s murder. Sam was always afraid, even when he thought we didn’t notice. He never sat with his back to the door, he was a light sleeper, and he never, ever talked about his childhood. It wasn’t until he disappeared right before his interview that I found out he had a brother. By then it was too late._ “Yeah, I’m looking at it.”

_“It gets better. We found out his mom died in a fire, and his dad? Record list a mile long. ...Uh, that was Mr. Henriksen. Not us. We didn’t hack anything. Promise.”_

Jody bit back a laugh. Riiiight. “Uh-hunh. Yeah, don’t do that again.”

_“...yes Ma’am.”_

“Okay. What’d you find?”

_“Well, he kept getting arrested for grave desecration, but thing was, it was always tied to a murder. There’s some psych stuff, about how he was a survivalist, but a weird one. He thought angels and demons were real, though almost every myth out there was real. Like one time he went to Nevada to this ‘haunted town’ and got arrested for shooting up a cemetery while he was drunk. He said there were Tulpas. Like, monsters that took the shape of what people thought.”_

Jody made a note to request that report. “Mmmhmm.”

 _“Anyway, CPS got involved once or twice, there was a lot of weird stuff, but then Brady checked the mom, and get this. When Jess died?_ Exactly the same _._ _Tied to the ceiling, soaked in gasoline, cut open through the stomach. And the Winchesters, everywhere they go, they burn bodies. Like a_ lot _of bodies.”_

Jody made a face.

 _“Sam came back on Sunday. B said she saw the car pull up. Really distinctive, a black Impala.”_ ...Jody tried _very hard_ not to remember the black Impala parked just outside of the diner. _“Dean went in first. Sam was doing something in the trunk, Dean came back out, Sam went in. Twenty minutes later, Sam’s screaming in the driveway and she smells smoke, and Dean’s screaming to call the fire department.”_

Oh god. Jody had a sudden, horrible picture build up. “He said no.”

 _“That’s what we think.”_ Chrissy paused. _“Look, I know everyone thinks, you know, my friend couldn’t_ possibly _do something like that, but...Sam didn’t want this. I mean, he had a_ full ride _and he didn’t even take his stuff or go to the funeral when Jess died. Like he just couldn’t. I think Dean’s making him do this.”_

“You might not be wrong.” Jody needed a bit more information, but…”Thank you for your time.”

_And here’s hoping I don’t end up like Henriksen did._

 

***

 

Sometimes Sam dreams about escape.

‘Dreams’ is inaccurate, but so is ‘hopes’ or ‘remembers’ or ‘thinks about’. He lets his mind drift and tries not to think too hard, and visions spring up of classes and routines that stay. Memories of regular sleep patterns and healthy food mingle with thoughts like _what if I just started driving_ and _I could go to Hollywood_ or _maybe I could buy a plane ticket and go to Europe_. Thoughts of campus mix pleasantly with thoughts of a small town somewhere and finding some way to hide among the populace.

They aren’t dreams, but they’re--

Sam blinked and realized someone was knocking on the window. He rolled it down. “Hey there. Your brother out?” Sheriff Mills asked.

Sam nodded. Dean had gone to get food. They were still on stakeout, they needed fuel, although Sam wasn’t going to eat more than fries (he did, sometimes, when he wanted to remember Ruby and playing in diners, late at night, feeding each other fries and ice cream). “Uh, something wrong, Ma’am?”

“Well, just thought you might like some company, that’s all. You mind?” Sheriff Mills nodded at the driver’s seat.

Dean would kill her. Sam got out and walked around. “Sorry, car’s kind of cramped for me.”

Sheriff Mills straightened up and nodded. “No problem.” She was holding a carrier with two cups of coffee. “Want some? I’m still buying two at a time. Old habits and all.”

It probably wasn’t drugged. Sam took it and sniffed anyway. “Thanks.” It wasn’t drugged. Sam added sugar, a creamer, slowly and carefully.

“What happened to your hand?”

Damnit. He’d been slow. He was always slow lately. Ruby had made him soft. “Uh. Burned myself cooking.”

Sheriff Mills almost looked horrified for a split second. Then she just smiled and said, “Yeah, gotta watch those motel stovetops.”

There were no stovetops in most motels. Sam loved that because no one could press his hand or arm to them, even if no one ever had (he thought, it was hard to remember lately). It just scared him. He was a freak, of course fire scared him. Fire scared anything impure.

But he didn’t say anything. Just sipped the coffee. It was good.

“So you’re Sam, right?” Sheriff Mills asked. Sam almost jumped. “Bobby’s a pain in the ass, but he seems real proud of you. Says you’re like a son to him.”

...He’d said that? Sam felt a strange, warm glow inside of him. Bobby had always been good to him, but hearing it from even secondhand… “He’s always been good to me. Showed me most of what I know about cars, actually. Said I’d be a good mechanic if I hadn’t tried for law school.”

Sheriff Mills considered him for a minute. “Stanford, right? Full ride?”

...no. Oh, god, please no.

“I did a little reading on you two. Found you by accident in the database.” Sheriff Mills held up a hand. “I’m not going to run you in or anything. Just wanted to talk. That okay?”

No. No it wasn’t, Dean was going to come back and she was going to die and--”What did you read?” Sam could be terrifying. He knew it. He was big and tall and Ruby had taught him how to intimidate people. “Did you read about the bodies? We burn them, Sheriff.”

“We? Didn’t realize your brother had multiple-personality disorder.” Sheriff Mills said casually.

Sam fell silent.

“Henriksen was an asshole, but he knew what he was doing.” Sheriff Mills continued. “Sam, I don’t think you want to be here. Do you?”

Sam wanted to say no. Wanted to shake his head. He couldn’t. “You have to leave. Dean...he says, anyone near me, they’re demons. Trying to make me Lucifer’s perfect vessel. You can’t--”

“Hey, give me a little credit.” Sheriff Mills tilted her hip, and Sam saw that she was armed to the teeth. “Ain’t my first day at the rodeo, you know.”

Sam just blinked.

Sheriff Mills gave him a minute, then put her hand over Sam’s. It wasn’t as soft as Ruby’s or as soothing as Jess’. It was just real. “If you want to talk, come find me, okay?”

Sam nodded, and Sheriff Mills started to walk away.

“Sheriff?” Sam found himself saying. “Dean’s going to kill this guy tonight.”

Sometimes Sam dreams of escape. But for the first time, this escape is one involving handcuffs and jail cells.

It’s a prayer that it can end.

 

***

 

If Jody had any doubts at all that Sam was a prisoner, the aftermath of the arrest took them away.

He’d just...shut down. Shaking, responding to any questions in a flat tone, making no eye contact unless ordered to. He was sitting in the suicide cell just because his mental state was so clearly unstable, and no one wanted to risk a self-harm attempt.

Dean was quiet too. It was a very different sort of quiet. He was in a holding cell alone, chained. Jody had already let the FBI know about the arrests, and she’d never met Henriksen herself, but she wished desperately he weren’t dead, just so she could get some _input_ here. She wasn’t sure what would explode first or how, but it was like sitting on a bomb.

She went to talk to Sam. She couldn’t do much, but at least she could comfort him.

Sam didn’t reply when Jody walked in and asked cheerily how he was. Jody didn’t blame him. She just let the silence go on.

“Dean’s going to kill you.” Sam said quietly.

“Don’t worry, Sam.” Jody could deal with this, at least--the firm belief that an abuser was all-powerful was something she’d trained on handling. “This is my job, and I’m not alone here. The FBI will be here soon.”

Sam nodded.

“You doing all right?” Jody asked.

Sam shrugged.

The silence continued for a while before Sam asked, “Have you ever burned flesh? Like...like on a stove or something?”

Jody blinked. “You mean burned myself? Yeah, a few times. Oven mitts wear out after your toddler tries to stab them to death.”

Sam nodded again. “That’s good. It means you’re not a demon. Demons scream when they burn.” Sam was rubbing the loose gauze on his palm now...no, not rubbing, just sort of toying with the burn. “It hurts them worse than it hurts people. Even if you’re just a bit impure it hurts you.”

Jody had a sick feeling where this was going. “Did...did Dean burn you? To see if…”

Sam didn’t say anything for a second, then, in the same quiet, defeated tone, said, “They already knew. I just screwed up.”

Jody went over to Sam--slowly, watching him so she didn’t scare him--and sat next to him on the cot, holding out her arms.

Sam carefully leaned against her. Jody embraced him, like she held her own son when he got upset.

Eventually Sam broke down and cried.

 

***

 

Right then, the world was behind a veil.

Sam lay on the cot and rested while outside he heard someone, probably Dean, killing. There was a bit of gunfire, like explosions. Then Dean stuck his head in and told Sam to come on, already.

Sam hated having to move. He wanted to sleep. But he went anyway.

When he saw Sheriff Mills struggling to move as Dean started making the explosives, he shushed her gently before taking his hand and pressing it over her mouth and nose. Dean wouldn’t notice.

She passed over quickly and without much fight. Her abdomen had taken a buckshot wound. She didn’t have enough energy for death throes.

Strange. There was a little boy crushed under her. Sam toyed with the head of hair. He was one of the Witnesses, probably--he’d been shot in the head, with the sniper-like precision Dean showed when killing anything nonhuman.

Dean called Sam, and Sam got up and went to get the Impala, sliding obediently into the passenger seat when it was pulled around. He leaned the seat back and shut his eyes, and when Dean got in and drove off, he drifted into sleep.

He felt like he slept for days before waking up.

 

***

 

It was all so dreamlike Sam forgot it had ever happened.

Dean was angry, but Sam didn’t worry too much, just followed along and found them jobs. Dean was happier when he got to burn bodies, and Sam slipped him a few actual serial killers under the guise of demonic possession.

The world was as it always had been.

 

***

 

“Hey, I gotta stock up. Go check out that college library, see if you like it.” Dean told him one morning.

Sam was idly writing and rewriting _Sheriff Jody Mills_ over and over again, whatever that meant, so he went ahead to the library. The campus was weirdly familiar, but lately Sam was having a hard time placing things in his mind.

He went up to the library and tried to shake off the nagging feeling.

“Sam?”

Sam looked up. Brady  was staring at him in shock.

It all came rushing back--Stanford, Jess, Jody Mills--and Sam jumped to his feet. Stanford. He was in Stanford. Oh, god, _no_. “I, uh, Brady, I--”

“Hey, it is you!” Brady smiled and held out his arms, pulling Sam into a hug. And, _Brady_ , his _friend_ , whispered in his ear, “Is anyone watching you?”

Sam shook his head.

Brady pulled away. “Let’s go get coffee and catch up, okay?”

Sam let himself be steered to the cafe.

Brady tucked the two of them away in a corner booth, getting Sam some sort of veggie sandwich to go with his coffee. “You look like you haven’t eaten in a week.”

“...I think I did.”

Brady blinked, then leaned forward. “Sam, when your girlfriend died...the FBI was pretty curious. We started looking stuff up and...Sam, your brother’s a serial killer, isn’t he?”

Sam looked up.

“It’s okay.” Brady said, taking Sam’s hand. “Hey. It’s okay.”

Sam pulled his hand away. Sheriff Mills was dead. Henriksen was dead. Everyone who said that was dead.

He left.

 

***

 

Sam woke up groggy and tired.

He vaguely remembered Brady showing up, remembered a knife...then Dean saying something about how that was okay then, Brady could come along and have some fun, Sam was already almost ready.

Sam remembered the pill Dean had given him with dinner, and he was barely surprised.

He looked around.

There were six pillars, fake, props from some drama set. Tied to each one was someone Sam knew. Mr. Holdson, the polisci teacher who had taken extra time to explain facets of law to him. Josh and Ben, brothers from a nearby frat that Sam had been in a prank war with. Suzie, she’d asked for help with homework all the time. A stranger, a girl Sam didn’t know, except maybe she was a waitress somewhere. And Brady, his face purpling, unconscious.

Piled around their feet was wood, and the smell of gasoline was everywhere.

Sam was in the middle, chained to the floor. Far enough away not to burn. Close enough to hear the screams.

Dean walked out and smiled. “Morning, Sammy.”

“Dean. Please don’t. Whatever I did, I won’t do it again--” Sam started to beg.

“ _Whatever_ you did?” Dean snarled. “Ruby ringing a bell? That bitch sheriff? This isn’t _whatever_ , Sam. You promised you’d come with me. And I warned you. I warned you every time.”

“Shut your mouth.” Mr. Holdson, of all people. Sam stared at his teacher in naked awe. “You’re Dean Winchester, aren’t you? How dare you. How dare you even speak to him after what you’ve done.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, then, slowly, pulled out a box of matches.

“I warned you I couldn’t control it, Sam.” Dean said under Mr. Holdson’s furious speech. “Not without my baby brother.”

He lit the match and threw it at Mr. Holdson’s feet.

 

***

 

_What are the remaining, living friends supposed to think when half a dozen of Sam’s acquaintances go missing at the same time? It looks like Sam, still Dean’s hostage, stepped out of line, and Dean responded by proving to Sam again that he’d kill to keep Sam complacent._

_Of course there’s no proof for any of this, and Sam and Dean aren’t exactly easy to locate even if his friends could convince enough people that Sam’s been taken hostage. They just get to live their lives constantly looking over their shoulder, constantly wondering if Dean Winchester is coming back to get them._

_Constantly wondering if they’re going to die as just another message to Sam._

\--phantomrose96

 

 


End file.
